


from a werewolf, to no another

by angelicwerewolf



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Priests, Werewolves, i wouldnt say the whole death and blood bit is graphic but still read carefully, semi religious imagery, warning for mentions of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 00:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicwerewolf/pseuds/angelicwerewolf
Summary: What does a holy image do, when he's also what the church fears, and has to protect that of who he holds close to?





	from a werewolf, to no another

**Author's Note:**

> to add background to this universe: "From A Werewolf, To No Another" is a short-ish series of stories of two werewolves living smack dab in the middle of London. From all the way back in the 1500's, all the way around Europe mysterious creatures, now known as the first generation of "Werewolves", emerged from unknown means. These Werewolves lived among human unbeknownst to them, as for of course, they possessed their own human forms. The creatures were seen as dangerous by many, but mostly left them alone to their own devices, however not with the frequent group of hunters and angry villagers trying to burn them.
> 
> Then came the Werewolf-Bornes (Wereborne, for short), who are pretty much the same as Werewolves but for one thing: These ones were once humans at birth, unlike their counterparts. A lot of the humans turned were by accident, by their accidental consumption of a Werewolf's blood. This of course, doesn't mean there were no willing humans; whether on the verge of death looking to survive, or humans who just didn't want to deal with being human. Then of course, despite the Werewolves and Werbornes being peaceful there was a handful of bad apples soiling their peacefulness.
> 
> With these two events hitting a limit, Hunters vowed to hunt the Weres. Whether once human or not.
> 
> Gilbert is a Werewolf from the First Generatio and has lived through and seen many centuries. From around the world Gilbert (birthed in Estonia) has come and gone, before he'd settled in the early century of 21st Century in London (year is either our current year or somewhere between 2030, haven't decided yet) serving a cathedral as a priest, of which job he tends to nearly 24/7.
> 
> Anthony's backstory is still yet to be hatched out. For now, all I've written from him is that he's a man from England living in the same area as Gilbert, working under his family's cafeteria business, and one day had the demise of stumbling upon a Weregilbert who accidentally turns him due to a reckless act of a Hunter.

It’s only been a little while since the incident including Gilbert’s bullet wound injury, in which he was caught full on out in his werewolf form and staggered for too long in one place; resulting in not other his very well hidden injury, but the worry that his blood could have been accidentally consumed by the bystander in front of him.

In the dead of night, it’s possible this random stranger ran far away from the hunter lest he’d be put down right there; but God, does Gilbert pray he didn’t just accidentally drag a complete, innocent and stranger into the entire mess dealing around his kind with humans—

Understandably so, sadly.

In this particular night, alone at the altar on a gloomy night where the clouds let the moon shy from her presence in the star-dotted skies, a young man walks in from the cold of London into the warmth of the Church. From here, Gilbert couldn’t see the individual’s face. Just see the rather jerky movements of heavy breathing, then comes _ the scent. _

The mysterious figure starts approach and Gilbert quickly swallows this common scent down and tucks it as just an imagination, allowing himself to some semblance of composure to begin his stroll forward to meet the man in question halfway.

It’s the same guy from awhile ago, but less neat-looking. The man, drenched in water, with a few scratches here and there, wobbling with tired legs and trembling at the cold’s command.

“Dear me, what happened to you?”

Gilbert’s werewolf concern are put elsewhere the moment he’s rushing to go get a blanket and something warm for this battered guy to take. The blond-haired was in some sort of haze, with a heavy breaths gradually decreasing the more he came to his senses and received the warm blanket and some warm sweet tea. After a little while of hopeless staring, reddish eyes eventually move all the way from the floor to stare at the cross behind the altar and then straight to Gilbert.

“Sir- I mean, Father,” The stranger finally speaks, eyes wide. “I need to confess to you, urgently. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Ah. Gilbert slowly felt the worry seep it’s way back into the priest’s very bones, but he shakes it off and accepts the man’s request then motions to follow. The very last confession booth is chosen by Gilbert, in order to avoid any eavesdropping despite them being the only two ones here— but this was an open, cathedral church, at which any time any one could walk in and they couldn’t risk that. If this was about to be the dreaded, werewolf related confession.

Worriedly enough, the man doesn’t seem at all against it. So Gilbert takes a seat on his side, the blond in tow on his own side and the curtains are shut.

“I, I don’t know how this.. confession thing works-“

With a gentle shush, Gilbert shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Would it be alright to ask for your name?”

The other’s audibly fumbling with his half empty mug. “Anthony, my name’s Anthony…” and that’s when the cup’s gingerly set down, in favor to pick at the fingernails. “but, people call me Toni for short.”

“Hmm.” At this point, watching the other’s behavior makes Gilbert think Anthony just attempted robbery; smashed through the window with his body to escape police, maybe fought someone, swam away from the authority; not to mention, it could put to rest the myriad of conditions Anthony presented himself in.. _ But that might be wishful thinking. _

“Continue, if you want.” with gentle encouragement, he leaned his head against the sieve window.

  
“Forgive me, Father, for I.. _ think _ I’ve sinned. That’s how it g- goes, right?” Not waiting for a yes or no, he continues. “Sparing the details, I- I’m a werewolf. I think, I don’t know, maybe this is just some horrendous nightmare.”

_A month later, something peculiar happens._

Gilbert’s come to know Anthony fairly well, to a level they meet each other on almost a daily basis. Therefore, the priest has taken note of the blond’s personality, quirks, behavior, so on and so forth. He was a calm gentleman with an autopilot kind of deadpan as Gilbert himself, and was by no means a strongly religious person, if religious at all.

The times he’d come by the church were always on their ‘afterwork’ hours, when it was dark and cold and barely a soul to be seen and most importantly, when Gilbert was there mostly looking after the church. Unlike their first meeting where he was in a state of shock and soon after with the creeping of a panic attack threatening at the walls of his tower, he’d always come by as his usual self. 

That wasn’t the case today. The moment Anthony walked through the doors of the Cathedral, the pungent smell of human blood was _ strong enough _ to nearly throw Gilbert off his senses. Topped with the fact that the scent was _ on _Anthony, mixing with his own blood and body scent— something worrying enough that sent shivers down the priest’s spine, like his own Pandora’s Box has been opened to disturb the world around him with things unimaginable.

No chance to react before Anthony’s hand, semi warm with mismatch of blood, almost yanks him to the confession booth. “Toni, _ what _are you doing—“ The priest yelps. Whether all was out of Anthony’s will or respect for Gilbert's job was beyond him nor did he care, for obvious reasons.

He’s promptly sat down in the same place as their first meeting. The last booth up against the wall, Anthony on his right in the confinement and Gilbert on his left. Then, silence.

Their breathing and the patter of raindrops against stone and concrete danced in their ears, creating this sense of unease and hostility to the naked eye.

“I think you know why I’m here.” he eventually says, shattering the silence between the walls. “It’s obvious that you know.”

It takes Gilbert a moment to find his words but he eventually musters some composition, and finally reacted. “I have a guess, yes.” he sighs, taking the cross necklace into his hands to gently fiddle with it. “What would you like to say?”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Not a beat passed by. “Just an hour ago, a man’s life was snuffed out like candlelight.”

“Why?” Is all he can say.

“I didn’t mean to, I _ really _didn’t. You have to believe me..”

“I do, Toni.”

“No you don’t!”

The near yell was enough to silence an unpredictable Gilbert from Anthony’s side. The other was bigger, stronger, seasoned and has lived more lifetimes than Anthony could begin to count, and to top it all off, he knew of this werewolf’s peaceful nature and his strong morals, so compassion what the least he thought from Gilbert even though the murder was a genuine accident. To his surprise, compassion is what he got.

“I’ve been alive for centuries, Toni, I’ve learned to forgive.” He started. “It’s _ my _fault you were turned into a werewolf in the first place, it’s my fault I didn’t teach you how to control the adrenaline that comes with being one.”

At this point, Gilbert stands from his seat, rounding to the other entry of the booth. “You may have committed a crime,” he says as he stopped at the other curtain, swishing it wide open. “but I take full responsibility for _ my _careless actions.”

Anthony sits there, scared and clueless, almost fearing for his own life. “Wh- What’d you mean? Are.. Are you going to turn me in?”

The slap of confusion that washes across Gilbert’s face is hard to miss, relieving Anthony, _ but he still didn’t know what the priest meant. _

“Toni. I can’t report this confession or _ any _confession for that matter, stating that the father in a sacramental confession has no business to do so. And no, I’m not gonna hurt you either. I’m not a cruel monster.”

By this point, Anthony ends up a crying mess around Gilbert’s arms. The somewhat bloody, scared blond letting out whatever bottled frustration and sadness he’s been hiding in the form of tears into the arms of a holy figure, Gilbert notes the therapeutic relief it’s taking on Anthony so, he doesn’t interrupt with further questions or words of wisdom, so on and so forth. Instead, he holds the man sobbing uncontrollably in a sincere hug, a firmly planted kiss to the top of his head to further offer comfort.

Then goes by two or three minutes of solid crying, wails of apologies, incoherent mumbles and noises of frustration when Anthony seemingly dries himself out to weakly state;

“He’s in the bag.”

_ What? _

“In the trunk of my car.”

**Author's Note:**

> "And what, pray tell, are you?"


End file.
